Saturday, May 31, 2008

Miss Potato Head
Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better (Or try at least) Not a Potato Head, But Still So Cute

Friday, May 30, 2008

In The Word's Of The Eagles

So, I called GB’s mom yesterday. She was, as reported, super sweet! The big jerk! Don’t you hate it when you do something wrong and go to apologize and the other person is just so nice about it. It makes you feel even worse. I’m not really sure what I was hoping for. I actually was not upset at her for being nice. It made it so much easier to apologize. But if she had been kind of rude I think I would have felt a little more justified by my actions. She also never admitted that maybe her son had taken my son’s car, (Maybe he didn’t, maybe he was just reclaiming his own car. Could’ve been either of theirs, we’ll never know) that would have made me feel better too. I think I wanted her to apologize back to me for GB taking the car out of Buddy’s hands. So apparently I did not completely learn my lesson. I think the lesson was, don’t bully little children and apologize when you’ve done something wrong, and then let that be the end of it. As in, let it go, act your age, get over it, show some class! Someday, maybe that will be me. In the meantime I guess I’ll just keep apologizing for being “that mom”.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

I'm 28, For Crying Out Loud

I am not sure which of those numbers I came closer to representing today, the 2 or the 8. I think I’m going to have to go with the 2. That’s right, I acted like a 2 year old today.

First of all let me just say, about a previous post in which I brag about taking a car away from a three year old. I am no longer, after today’s events proud of that moment. Never mind the fact that I was retrieving it for my son since the car was his. It was not something I am pleased with now.

Let me just dive right into the events of today that reveal just how low a mother will go in the name of “justice” for her son.

Back to McDonalds for another Wednesday playgroup, things are going well. Our little collection of kids are all getting along, this should have been my first clue that calamity was about to strike. Us mommies had moved closer to one of the slides in a silly attempt to convince ourselves that we really were about to end our conversation, collect our children, and leave. Who were we fooling? That is just phase one of a long process to stop our chattering and go our separate ways. This position in front of the slide did, however, put me right in the center of the children’s action. I witnessed a little boy, about 6 years old I’d guess, take out of Buddy’s hands, guess what, I red toy car. His Happy Meal prize!

I know Buddy; other kids, especially in big groups, fiercely intimidate him. I knew he would not stick up for himself. In fact, he turned around and gave me a look that said, “What do I do?” I didn’t know what he should do. So I did what any neurotic mother in my position would do. I tapped the boy, (To use my daughter’s system for labeling strangers we will call him green boy. Bella assigns these names to people based on the color of their shirt.) Green boy, (or GB) on the shoulder and asked if I could have my son’s car back. He held it out to me and then withdrew his hand again, still clutching the car and said, “It’s my car.”

“Then why did you take it out of my son’s hand?” I asked.

“It’s my car.” (Duh, I just told you that lady)

“But I just saw you take it from him!”

Blank look

“Where did you get it?”

“It’s my car.”

You see where this is going. Keep in mind I am a two year old, arguing with a six year old, about a toy. It’s going NOWHERE!

I finally told him, that’s fine. And turned and told Buddy that he had plenty of cars at home and we were just going to let GB have his car. Buddy had a remarkable attitude, much better than my own.

“But it’s my car.” (Little sniffle)

“I know buddy, it’s okay, you have plenty at home and you will get another one next week.”


By this time GB had walked over to his mother that was standing close by watching this entire thing take place. I did not know that until that moment

“What did she say to you?” She asked her son.

I did not hear his response but they talked for a minute. Then she asked GB’s sister if it was GB’s car. Sister said it was.

I started to feel a little bit stupid for the fact that I kind of started this whole argument, and decide I needed to apologize to mom.

In the seconds it took me to walk the fifteen steps to where she was standing I lost all my nerve. Why? Because I was so embarrassed by my actions and because I HATE humbling myself to apologize! I have a hard time psyching myself up to tell my two and three year old I am sorry, let alone a woman in her thirties. So all I said is, “You know what that may not even be my son’s car. Maybe he lost his up in the tunnel.” She looked at her son and asked him to go look inside the tunnel and see if he can find it for Buddy. And he took off to obey.

I went on to tell her how my son will not stand up for himself and he keeps getting his stuff taken away from him. She says, “Well if we don’t find the car he can just have my son’s if it is that big of a deal. They’ll give us another one.”

This really hit a nerve. I felt like now she is just assuming that her son is telling the truth and mine was not. I no longer wanted to apologize.

I told my kids to get their shoes on, we needed to go, and she was telling her kids the same. GB, returned with just the one red car. She asked if he had found it, he said no. She said to her son, “Why don’t you give him the car then, that would be sweet.”

I told her No, please not to worry about it.

She said, “Are you sure.”

I said, “I’m sure.”

I got out of there as quickly as I could. Loaded my kids in the car, and got in the driver’s seat.

Have you ever felt like you’ve just had an out of body experience? That’s how I felt. Sitting there in the car it just hit me. “What the heck just happened?” Who was this crazy person that had taken me over and taken on a six year old. I felt so utterly stupid and ashamed. On top of that I was sorry for my friends sake. I actually don’t live in that community. We drive about 20 miles to meet with our friends every week. But these girls the other mom’s I hang out with, have to see GB’s mom all the time. One of them goes to church with GB’s family and I was so afraid I had embarrassed both of them. They had witnessed this whole event. I called my husband, and cried when I told him what had happened, declaring that I was never going back to McDonald’s (GB, mom, and sisters have just started coming every Wednesday with a group of their friends) I did not think I could face them again. N assured me that she was probably every bit as embarrassed as me. I called one of my friends that had been there with me so I could apologize if I had humiliated her. Jess assured me that she was not at all upset by it. Then she did her best to make me feel better. She told me that GB’s mom was not the type to hold a grudge. She was way to sweet for that. It did not make me feel better. I felt even more like a jerk.

Here I had jumped in to defend my son from a bully and had in fact bullied the bully. What business was it of mine to stand there and argue with a kid over whether he took somebody’s toy? Yes I had seen him take it from Buddy but I can’t say for certain that it was not his toy that Buddy had picked up off the floor and poor GB was just reclaiming what was his. Not to say I think my son is too sweet to have taken a toy away from some one else, he does it to his sister all the time. I am almost positive though that he would be too intimidated to have taken another kid’s toy, especially a bigger kids. But he may have picked it up from somewhere thinking it was his. Who knows, who cares? The point was, I was wrong in my actions.

I got home and had a long conversation with my mom on the phone about it. I asked her if she thought I should apologize to GB’s mom next week, as I was really feeling convicted that I should. She suggested trying to get her phone number and doing it right away. That way I did not have to dread it all week. She knows me so well; confrontation and apologies make me literally sick.

I called the other playgroup friend, apologized to her for my behavior and got GB’s phone number. She also confirmed how sweet and darling this poor woman is. I shrunk two more inches. And then to add mortification to humiliation she informs me that she is Dr. Spock’s (not really his name) wife. OUR doctor’s wife! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! So now I will not be returning to McDonald’s and I will be finding a new Doctor. Or I will learn my lesson, grow up, and apologize to Mrs. Spock. (If I can ever get a hold of her. I love that I have had the opportunity to drag this out as long as possible, as I have called 4 times and she is not home.)

And I will do my best to quit bullying children.
I will do my best to quit bullying children.
I will do my best to quit bullying children.
I will do my best to quit bullying children.
I will do my best to quit bullying children.
I will do my best to quit bullying children.
I will do my best to quit bullying children.
I will do my best to quit bullying children.

Monday, May 26, 2008

With Blog Comes Paranoia

I had a chance to spend some time with my dad the other day. I do not get opportunities like this very often, just him and me, visiting. It wasn’t quite the same as it use to be though. Not because I’ve changed so much, since I’ve gotten married and started having kids of my own. It wasn’t because we don’t spend as much time together as we use to since I moved from my family’s hometown 2 years ago. No what was different about our conversations came from a much newer transformation in my life. It was not until very recently that my dad began interrupting every conversation, every story he told to ask, “wait, you’re not going to blog about this, are you?” It seems he is having to pause and rethink how he phrases things. ‘Will he be incriminating himself with this bit of information? Will he appear foolish if I record, for both of my readers, what he had to say about this or that? Is this conversation appropriate?’ For instance a certain dialogue that took place between my father and myself involving one of us distracting an elderly man while the other took off with his walking cane. We were pretty sure without it we could out run him. What? It was for a good cause. But my dad seemed to think if this ended up in a blog he would somehow look bad in front of his parishioners.

My relationship with my husband has changed as well. It seems, these days, that we end many a conversation with, “Hey, you (I) could blog about that!” My family seems a bit paranoid in my opinion. They seem to be under some false misconception that I am going to talk about something that might embarrass them. I mean come on, really, what am I going to do write about their bathroom habits? Oh wait...

Friday, May 23, 2008

Mother's Day, The Queen Is In

*NOTICE: The office is closed for the weekend due to the Memorial Day Holiday. Therefore NO Friday Filing will be done today. I know. You’re heartbroken.

Well, I did not post a mother’s day message on Mother’s Day. Why? Because I am a terrible daughter! So, to make up for it I want to say a belated Happy Mother’s Day to my awesome mama! I love you mommy! Thanks for being the best motherer (shut up, it’s a word now, I just made it one.) there is. And, one of my very best friends!

In my defense I did travel 100 miles to spend Mother’s Day weekend with my mom. (Okay, I did it a little bit for myself too, since I was going to spend the weekend at a scrap booking retreat with her) And, in my defense, I made her a card. Then I left the card at home and had to make her another card on Mother’s Day using my mother’s supplies. But I made it and it was pretty. So there!

I also want to show you what I got for Mother’s Day. I got back home on Sunday afternoon and up on the china hutch was a card, my gift and this

MY HUSBAND DECORATED THAT HIMSELF! I AM SO IMPRESSED! He then saved the rest of the glitter and gems for me to use for a craft project of my own someday. Does this guy know me, or what? Thank you N! I love you too!

Occasionally at naptime, the kid’s, not mine. (According to every parenting book I can get my hands on a new mother should sleep when the baby sleeps. Especially when that mother is nursing. I have not been able to find, anywhere, a book that goes on to say that once the kids are feeding themselves, cleaning up after themselves and for all intents and purposes completely independent of you, you still need to continue to nap when they do. And BELIEVE ME, I’VE LOOKED!) So, during naptime, I put on my little crown and wear it as I go about my daily chores. This poses a problem from time to time, however. Sometimes, while I am wearing the crown, I start to feel a bit royal. And then I think to myself. “What am I doing folding laundry? Don’t I have servants (my husband) to fold the laundry for me?” And so, leaving the laundry, I retire to my throne. (The bed… the sliver of bed that is not currently covered with unfolded laundry.) I gingerly nibble on the grapes being hand fed to me. (Chex mix shoveled in by the fist full… MY fistful.) And look on as the court jester (television) entertains me. (Lulls me to sleep).

I am assuming this is all okay with the servant… oops… I mean my husband. As he is the one who bought and decorated my royal attire. I saw this as a message to me, from him personally, to act like the royalty that he knows I am. Please don’t ask him as he is busy with his servantly duties. (I know he will laugh in your face until he is crying and then will come and inform me that I am wrong and I will be forced to get back to folding laundry. And I hate folding laundry!) I do so love to wear my crown though.

I took a picture of me in my crown to show you, but somehow it got erased. (I took one look at it, noticed a massive amount of flaws and shivered. Bad skin, hair, doing unexplainably strange things, and a lot of fat… not to mention several chins, I think it’s one for each of our children, and decided nobody, would ever see that picture) Sorry about that!

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Because You Said So

Back to McDonald’s today for our weekly play/mom stuffing her face group. It was much less eventful than last week. In my opinion where kids are involved uneventful is Always a good thing.

Bella, who is becoming increasingly more independent every day, I mean she’s dating now for goodness sakes, left the play area at McD’s, and opened that great big heavy bathroom door all by herself. I interrupted my conversation with one of the other mommies to go turn on the light for Bella and before I reached the bathroom door she had already reached up and turned on the light herself. Okay, cool. She can now officially go to a public bathroom all by herself. That’s one down!

A few minutes later I saw her coming out of the bathroom. Fully clothed this time. I was a bit surprised after last week’s incident of coming out of the McDonald’s bathroom in nothing but a t-shirt. Not to mention she had been in and out of there very quickly. I assumed she had just gone in to play for a minute and so I began my probing questions. I didn’t have to ask too many before getting to the bottom of things.

“Bella, did you go potty.”

Bella, “Yes.”

I was so proud; she had gone and then had remembered to pull up her pants before exiting into a room full of people.

“Did you wipe?”


“But you pulled up your pants.” I stated, as if she hadn’t realized. Surely I was catching her in a lie. She had been in there playing, and avoiding being in trouble for it, she was pretending to have gone to the bathroom. Right? Well let’s just see about that.

“Yes I did.” She smiled proudly.

I guided her into the bathroom, and helped her get her pants down. According to a damp pair of panties, she was not lying. Bella had, in fact, gone potty and then had proceeded to pull up her panties and pants… without wiping. As I was doing my panty investigation an innocent voice asked, “Mommy, can you wipe me please so I can hurry up and go play?”

For some reason my, usually very smart, little girl has not yet figured out that it takes more time to come track me down to ask me to come wipe her than it does to just wipe herself and then hurry up and get back to what she was doing. Besides I have seen her wipe, I am MUCH more thorough and therefore much slower at it. But, alas I am super-mom. I make wiping seem quicker I guess.

I was just about to start in on a lecture when, a very proud Bella exclaimed, “I remembered to pull up my pants before I came out to get you!”

What did it matter that she now had damp stinky undergarments on. She had remembered to be obedient to what I had asked her to do. Not only that she had done it with great pleasure and pride. I will happily spend the next 5 days applying desitin to a raw little bum for the sake of a moment of great obedience.

Incidentally our little friend J, from last week was not there today. Supposedly because he is sick, but I know it is because he now fears me. My little Buddy did a fine job taking up the slack in J’s absence. He stole a toy car from his little brother. He did, however, give it back when I told him to. Buddy learned a long time ago not to mess with me. I am sure J will come around too. ;0)

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

In the blink of an eye

One day your sweet little daughter is a giggly, dependent three year old that still needs help putting on her shoes, and then, the next thing you know she is out the front door on her fist date. They grow up so fast, don't they?

Daddy took Bella out on her first date today. I think they were headed to Dairy Queen for some ice cream. She has been looking forward to this for weeks. When sweet N told her they would go out just the two of them. She has brought it up many times since.

Then today I was in my room folding the laundry (I try to do that at least once a month) and watching a movie. The kids woke up from their nap and wanted to sit in my room to watch the end of my flick. Towards the end the girl character was talking to her friend about the date she was about to go on. Bella's eyes lit up as she exclaimed, "I wanna go on a 'gate'." In the next scene the girl and her date sat in a piano lounge eating their dinner. My little girl, who is apparently becoming a romantic at such a tender age, sighed, "Awe, I wanna listen to music and eat dinner!"

When N got home from work this evening we decided it was definitely time for that date.

Bella picked out her own dress. We fixed her hair and then she sat and waited for daddy to get ready. (Men!)O.K. so he was watching the boys while I helped Bella get ready and then it only took him about 20 seconds to change out of his work clothes. But it did give me a chance to shoot a cute picture of the lady in waiting!

I hope this is the first of many more dates with my own favorite date! I have fond memories of my own daddy/daughter dates!

Monday, May 19, 2008

Proud Little Fish

Those of you who have been here before will find my references to my husband have changed. He will now be known as N. It has occurred to me that I should probably do something to protect my family’s identity somewhat and so the names of my husband, and children have been changed for their safety. Not that I think someone out there is stalking us, but you never know. For those of you who have been here before and now know my husband and children’s names just keep it to yourselves! Thanks!

Our pastor and his wife left on Friday for a 2-week trip to London. (Good for them) Leaving my husband, N, in charge of preaching and all other pastoral aspects of Sunday services for the next two weeks.

So he preached yesterday for the first time since his mother passed away. (It’s been 8 weeks since her accident; I can hardly believe it’s been that long already.) N did AWESOME! He opened with a song. The first time he has sung at the church we are attending now. He did an AWESOME job singing too! There were few dry eyes by the end of the message, and a horde of people surrounding him after to tell N how much they had been ministered to. I was very proud of him. Perhaps I should not have felt pride. Maybe that is not an appropriate feeling concerning preaching about God. I think all N felt was humbled. But I could not help it. As person after person approached to tell me how blessed they had been by the service, my heart swelled. As a matter of fact I think it was something I needed to experience.

You see, for as long as I can remember I told my parents growing up that I DID NOT want to marry somebody in the ministry. I have nothing against pastors. My father is a tremendous pastor, has been since before I was born. I have always been extremely proud of him. But living in a fish bowl is not at all fun. And getting to be free of that one day sounded like a dream. Most little girls dream of growing up, finding prince charming, marrying, and moving off to an enchanted castle. Me, I was perfectly fine with a chubby plumber and a run down shack. Just keep me out of the lime light.

So six years ago I found myself a very attractive carpenter who adored me and I fell madly in love with him. 2 years later we married. We lived a nice and fairly unnoticed life until 2 years ago. My home building sweetheart told me, “I think I am feeling called to the ministry.” In particular he was feeling a nudge towards working with youth. I told him to ignore those crazy voices in his head and lay off the caffeine. Then I watched him fall deeply in love with 4 high school kids as God took us 400 miles from my hometown to be House Parents to foster kids. I saw God use him to touch and help change their lives and it was then that I knew. Dang it, God was indeed calling my husband into the ministry. And so here I am, a pastor’s daughter and youth pastor’s wife. Forever swimming in the crystal clear waters of a humble little fish bowl. And I could not be more proud!

Sunday, May 18, 2008

I'm a Grandma!

Yesterday I became a Grandmother. I know it's crazy my oldest is 3 and suddenly now I am a grandmother.

Well, I'll explain. Our foster daughter (well former foster daughter but I still consider her family, as long as she stays on her best behavior) had a baby yesterday. He weighed 9lbs. 14oz. In my books that's HUGE!

Haven't gotten to hear any more details since except that she is madly in love with him, as she should be. I am excited for her and proud of her... she's overcome a lot.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Friday Filing

Friday Filing again. For those of you that are new this is when I put away, in their own little files, the little things that happened throughout my week, thoughts in my head, or things my children have said:

Apparently I only had one thought in my head all week so that is all that will be appearing in this week's Friday Filing.

I HATE, in public restrooms, those toilets that flush automatically. Yes, it's nice to not have to touch anything in those disgusting stalls that you don't have to, What I hate however, is when I am sitting there doing my thing and right there in the middle of it all the toilet flushes. I'm not done. I haven't gotten up yet. I feel like I am at the Oscar's giving a speech and someone decides, all right that's it. You've been given sufficient time and now it is time to wrap things up.

File this under: Trust me you will KNOW when this big bum has left the vicinity.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Movers and Shakers, Mooners and Takers

Story time is over but the friends I made from there wanted to continue to get together once a week. So three other women and myself are still meeting at Mc Donald’s every Wednesday, kids in tow, for a play date! I feel like a part of a new club, ‘The After Story Hour Club’ an elite little club for mom’s with no life beyond the local library story reading. Oh well, that’s me. Just happy to be a part of something.

It was a good time yesterday, as always. I enjoyed conversations ranging from concerns about our kids not putting on weight to whose husband has to put on a shirt to answer the door and whose would just as soon mow the lawn in nothing but boxers. To clear up any speculations my husband puts on a shirt if we’ve got company.

Everything went along just fine, the kids played in the cleanest Mc Donald’s play place I have ever seen. The mom’s visited and snacked on french fries. Only two little fiascos occurred and both involved my children.

As conversation flowed among us a lady from the neighboring table leaned over to ask. “Excuse me, does she belong to one of you?”

We looked in the direction the lady was pointing and there, just a few feet from the bathroom door stood Bella. She looked a bit disoriented as she scanned the now crowded room. (It was just our little group when we arrived but we had been there so long that the play/seating area had filled up to almost full capacity.) Bella’s worried expression softened as she finally found me. It was then that I realized why she was being pointed out to us in the first place.

Bella wore absolutely nothing but a t-shirt and a ponytail holder. Neither of which covered much.

Leaping from my chair I grabbed Bella’s, arm and we whisked off into the bathroom where her panties and shorts lay crumpled on the floor in front of the potty. This is not the first, second, or third time we have had this problem with Bella. It was, however, the largest crowd we have attracted. So far this has occurred in the nursery, where she streaked the nursery worker that use to change her when she was still in diapers, her brother and myself. Mrs. Sylvas and I got a good laugh out of it. Then I promptly walked her to the little bathroom in the nursery, helped her redress and explained the importance of putting your clothes back on after pottying, before coming out of the bathroom.

The next time this happened she made it all the way out of the nursery and into the hall where a few of the boys from my husband’s youth group stood bright red and chuckling nervously.

The last ‘episode’ before yesterday was when we had a high school student in our home eating dinner with us. Bella had been excused to use the restroom. Moments later, mid sentence, this young man glanced over his shoulder, quickly tossed his head back in the opposite direction, flushed and muttered “um, um”. I don’t think we ever heard the end of the story he was telling. Nor do I think he will be returning for another family dinner. At least not when we are serving up moon pie for dessert!

It is always in an attempt to get some help getting her clothes back on that Bella makes these ‘grand entrances’ I’m just not sure why she can’t use that loud voice God gave her to call me into the bathroom.

The rest of our troubles yesterday afternoon came courtesy of a bright red shiny new car. Buddy was the only one of the 4 little boys at the table who had received the coveted red car as his happy meal prize. Everyone else was stuck with a boring old white car. And every other little boy at the table wanted to get his french fry greased hands on that red one. Bella did a fair job keeping track of it for Buddy. Her policy is, “if I aint taking toys from my little brother, aint nobody taking toys from him.”

She had already tattled too many times to our friend J’s mommy for taking Buddy’s car and I was afraid the other mothers would get annoyed with the interruption. So the last time J had grabbed and dashed I told my kids to just let him play with it for a few minutes. I would get it back from him before we left. This satisfied the two of them and they went off happily to climb and slide.

A few minutes later with my children’s shoes on and them waiting at the table for me to gather the last of our things and get going, I approached J. Sure he wouldn’t hand over the car to my three-year old, his peer, even when she asked politely. But I was a grown up, a mother come to retrieve her son’s toy. This should just take a minute. I tapped on the window of the big plastic tube where J sat happily driving ‘his’ new red car over imaginary roads. He looked up, I politely asked for the car, letting him know we were leaving now and wanted to take it with us. He shook his head ‘no’. I smiled, explained again that it was time for us to go otherwise I would be happy to let him continue to play. Again, his head shook.

Okay, he needs to be told to give it to me. He is confused by my asking, thinking that is leaving him with an option. “J, come bring me the car. We are leaving now.” J, also realizing he needed to be more clear, shook his head once again and added an audible “No.”

Okay, I’d like to see him say no to my face. I took a short cut into the tunnel, through the slide, ignoring my own rule of “No climbing up the slide”. This kid needed a firm look in the face and the presence of an adult, telling him he must hand over the toy, and he needed it fast!

J looked surprised to see me in front of him only for a moment before he returned to his driving task.

“J, give me the car.”
J, I mean it, we are leaving and Buddy needs his car”
This time he looked straight at me when he said it. And with not a glimmer of fear in his eyes he tucked that stupid red car up under the long hem of his shorts and dared me with those big brown eyes to ask for it again.

I picked my jaw up off the floor of the tunnel, raised my eyebrows and said.

“Don’t think I won’t reach in there and get it.”

He gave me that ‘sure you will lady’ look and I was left with no choice but to reach under his shorts hem, grab the car, give him a victorious, and perhaps somewhat haughty, smile and say. “Thank You!” And turned away just as his own jaw was hitting the floor.

Let me just take a minute to explain that his shorts where all the way down to his knees and the car was small, resting just barely above his knees making it hardly inappropriate for me to reach in and grab it. The attitude, the smile, and the, I told you so, tone in my “thank you” may have been inappropriate but the action itself was not.

I was only a little bit ashamed of my attitude by the time we got to the car. I am not sure, but I think even my two year old would have handled the situation more maturely than I did. Nonetheless we now have a shiny new red car parked in our own toy box and I am pretty sure J will not mess with me again.

Until another Wednesday with our friends at Mc Donald’s that is all I have to report on our adventures.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Can I Get a Moment of Silence Please

My daughter can talk!! And when she talks it is LOUD!

We went out to eat tonight, mostly because there were no clean dishes in the house. This was due to the fact that I always think, “well, if I turn this like this, and move this around to here I can get one more dish in the dishwasher.” And so I close the door to the cleaning machine and put off starting it in anticipation of that cylinder shaped dish that is 2 inches in diameter and is triangular shaped at one end and would be the perfect fit for that last space. It does not come along in time and I am stuck, once again, with no clean dishes in the house. Resulting in a necessary trip to a restaurant.

My husband and I spent much time calculating all the pros and cons to a) getting food to go and bringing it home to eat out of Styrofoam containers with plastic ware. Or b) loading up 3 very hungry and extremely hyper kids (looking VERY forward to the powder puff football game that was next on our agenda) to go into the restaurant for a “peaceful” family dinner. Words of advise for ANYONE ever trying to make a similar decision… always, ALWAYS go for option a. Stay home! By all means, Stay - At - Home!!!! I wouldn’t go so far as to say my kids were poorly behaved. But you should not, unless you are planning a trip to the funny farm anyway, take a one, two and three year old out to a sit down restaurant after promising an exciting outing afterwards.

The 1 year old, Hoss, who didn’t have the foggiest idea that we would be going to the game next, was all hyped up due to the older kids excitement. Buddy, the two year old, loves, loves, loves, football and while he was very eager to be there already and was a little confused as to why we had to make this little pit stop, is also like one of his parents (and it is not his ever gracious father). He gets irritable, cranky, and confused if his stomach is not completely full at all times… so his patience was wearing somewhat thin. Bella, the oldest was fine except for that trait that she received from the same flawed parent who loses all capacity to function between feeding times. (Yes, if you haven’t figured out which parent this is yet it is, yours truly) And that is the gift of gab! I myself have been told I was gifted in this area for many years. Thinking it was a compliment of sorts, you know I thought people thought I was a good conversationalist. I looked up gab in Webster’s dictionary. I am now somewhat offended by those people (and by THOSE PEOPLE I do mean my parents) who have so lovingly bestowed on me this title of sorts, for years.

Gab: to talk in a rapid or thoughtless manner (I am ‘gabbing’ in a very thoughtless manner now, mother and father.)

When Bella gabs it can be heard from rooms away. You can spend the entire meal saying, “Bella, talk softer.” And I really do think she thinks she is making a great attempt to lower her voice, in fact she does. The very next thing out of her mouth is a politely whispered “okay.” Followed by a resounding “Hey Daddy, Guess What We Did Today!”

A few months ago I took a walk with the kids to the post office. Bella chattered non-stop. About the blown up snowman in the yard, a stick she found on the ground, every single car we passed, and her ideas for what we should do for the rest of the afternoon. That evening I was telling N about just how much she went on and on and on and on… He laughed, unsympathetically.

“What is so funny?” I demanded.

“Your dad is somewhere laughing his head off right this very minute.”

You see as our pastor at the time of N’s and my engagement, my father did our premarital counseling. My parents thought this was the perfect licensing to warn N of all that he would be dealing with. (I think it was their secret attempt to scare him off in an effort to keep me around longer. They swear they were more than ready to hand me off but I know the truth). My dad took this time to tell N, in great detail, of all my rambling, droning, and all around obnoxious prattling. N went ahead with the marriage despite their best warnings and has been looking for ways to tune me out ever since. He knew now that my dad would feel somewhat repaid by my own similar subjection to non-stop chattering.

However in those moments of wishing for just one quiet meal I am reminded that in a few short years my house will be so eerily quiet and I will yearn for a table full of excited stories and dramatic gestures. Just as I know my own father, at times, longs for just a little bit of chatter. And how my other Father, my heavenly Father, never tires of hearing me, or my daughter (who at three already talks to him often on her own) talk freely, loudly, excitedly about all that is going on around us.

I am determined to enjoy the constant talking… except at bedtime… and I would be okay with her lowering her tone just a little bit. Because these days are so short, just ask my parents, or your own. And soon you will be left with quiet memories that are not near close enough to the real thing. I feel it passing me by already. With a little boy who, at times, does not want to stop playing to come give me a hug, or a daughter that would sometimes rather share a laugh with a friend than with me. And then there is the baby who is just now discovering so much of the world around him that he has become less content to sit on my lap and lay his head on my shoulder. I am determined to learn to enjoy all of these fleeting moments.

Monday, May 12, 2008

The Thief Comes In the Night

My sister just sent this to me. Years ago I too would have thought this a hoax but I have been visited at least 3 time by these criminals... they have made a believer out of me.


You've heard about people who have been abducted and had their kidneys removed by black-market organ thieves.

My thighs were stolen from me during the night a few years ago. I went to sleep and woke up with someone else's thighs. It was just that quick. The replacements had the texture of cooked oatmeal. Whose thighs were these and what happened to mine? I spent the entire summer looking for my thighs. Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living ou t my life in jeans. And then the thieves struck again.

My butt was next. I knew it was the same gang, because they took pains to match my new rear-end to the thighs they had stuck me with earlier. But my new butt was attached at least three inches lower than my original! I realized I'd have to give up my jeans in favor of long skirts.

Two years ago I realized my arms had been switched. One morning I was fixing my hair and was horrified to see the flesh of my upper arm swing to and fro with the motion of the hairbrush. This was really getting scary - my body was being replaced one section at a time. What could they do to me next?

When my poor neck suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a turkey neck, I decided to tell my story. Women of the world, wake up and smell the coffee! Those "plastic" surgeons are using REAL replacement body parts -stolen from you and me! The next time someone you know has something 'lifted', look again - was it lifted from you?

THIS IS NOT A HOAX. This is happening to women everywhere every night.


P. S. Last year I thought some one had stolen my Boobs. I was lying in bed and they were gone! But when I jumped out of bed, I was relieved to see that they had just been hiding in my armpits as I slept. Now I keep them hidden in my waistband.

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Friday Filing

Friday Filing again. For those of you that are new (and I know there aren’t any of you since I think only a select few family members and one friend, who must have nothing better to do are the only ones that read this blog) this is when I put away, in their own little files, the little things that happened throughout my week or things my children have said:

I walked into the kitchen the other day to find Buddy painting Bella’s face with ranch dressing. The brush, a celery stick.

File That Under:
Who say’s kids can’t enjoy their veggies?

I was trying to read blogs and feed Hoss at the same time yesterday. Apparently I got lost in a blog because I looked over and discovered that Hoss had resorted to eating his own foot.

Filed Under:
Was it just me or did he seem to be enjoying the foot more than what I had cooked for him?

I sat nervously at the table as my husband got caught up on my blog. He had not read it in several days and had missed a few of my personal favorites. It was very apparent to me as he read that he did not snicker, not even once. Like a good wife, I did say a word about it. Instead I let it fester and boil up inside of me before “casually” bringing it up in conversation days later. His response: that I am just so funny that he has had to learn to build up a resistance to my humor otherwise he would be laughing hysterically all of the time.

File Tab Reads:
My husband is full of crap

How many preservatives are actually in fast food french fries?

This is where I filed this little story. Buddy was telling us over and over again how hungry he was during a trip in the car. Bella kindly responded that she would give him some french fries. Because they are often times make believing that they are cooking, eating, or ordering food, I told her that was very sweet of her to “share” her fries with her brother and made a mental note to get Buddy a snack when we got to the store as we did not have any food in the car. Including NO french fries. Glancing back minutes later to check on my little darlings who were being so peacefully quiet I found them to be eating REAL fries. I then went on to discover that they were getting them out of Bella’s cup holders that pull out of her booster seat. (use to think those were handy, now realizing it is just a perfect little hiding place for all kinds of things) We had not had french fries in the car for days. Yuck!

Found this advertisement on the wonderful world wide web: Who Else Wants A Step -By - Step Hold You By The Hands Until You Succeed Potty Training Method That is Guaranteed To Have Your Son Or Daughter Potty Trained In 3 Days Or Less

My guaranteed potty training system sells for only $7 and works no matter what. It doesn't matter if your child is a boy or girl. It doesn't matter if you have one child or twins. It doesn't matter if your child is 2 or 5. It doesn't matter if your child suffers from autism or other delays. It doesn't even matter if your child is not born yet or if you have a strong willed child.

This Is Filed Under:
So does this mean if my child has not learned to use the toilet while still in utero I will get my money back? It says it is guaranteed!

Very MUCH Bloggling

I have a confession to make. I have been unfaithful to my own blog today in pursuit of other blogs. I have not spent anytime with my own blog but have left comments all over the blogging community during the spare seconds that I had today, which as you mothers know, in mommy world that usually ads up to about a minute and a half. I have now returned to her... him? (I don’t know I haven’t really decided on a gender for my blog… you know what it’s moody, it’s fickle and it often is prone to much rambling… yep, it’s a girl.) Okay with that settled I have returned to her. But… to save myself some time as I am trying to get packed for a weekend away I am going to be posting some of my comments that I left on other blogs and maybe commenting a little bit on my own comments. Apparently I just can’t get enough of ME and what I have to say, also just a few other random thoughts from my day. (You’re Welcome!) So here it goes:

I was commenting to Diary of a Mad, Mad Housewife about her recent trip to a knitting convention type thing and how people tend to think knitters are a little strange. I said:

I am headed to a scrap booking retreat this weekend. We too have a similar bad rap and the sad part is there is nobody cool who crops. Unless you know of some linebacker who sits on the sidelines embellishing photos of fellow teammates, I don’t. So I think we are in this strange group all by our strange selves.

I really do think it is a shame that no one has made this hobby cool. I mean who wouldn’t want to knit? Julia Roberts does it, Madonna does it, and professional athletes do it. Just for kicks I googled “Celebrities that Scrapbook”, I came up with Cathy Zielske. Anyone ever hear of her? Exactly!

Moving right along. I checked out my status with today. As I do every day (after announcing to my husband at the beginning of the week that I was going to quit obsessing over my status on See this post Thanks, You’ve Created a Monster for insight into why I must stop obsessing) I freaked out over what I saw and emailed my pal from boondockramblings to whine to her about it. Again, to save myself some time from having to actually retell about my frustration, I will just share with you what I emailed to her: (Things in [ ] have been added just now for the purpose of this post)

Okay, I have to vent and you are the only one I "know" that will understand and not think I am crazy. Okay, you're going to think I am crazy but you at least know what clicking and scores and all that stuff is and my sweet, sweet husband pretends to know what the heck I am talking about but I see the glazing over of the eyes taking place!

So here's the deal, and I know this means nothing to the high and mighty holding their own in the top 20s in humor blogs [boondockramblings is right now sitting pretty at number 13] but humor me... (Yep, pun intended) Okay, my point. I WAS number 41 with a score of 80 and somehow I am NOW number 45 with a score of... are you ready for this... 79!!!! [The way the scoring works, every time someone clicks on my humor-blog link on this page I get a point and I then move up in my rank. 80, was how many points I had wich made my rank number 41] What the heck! How in the world did that happen? Did someone unclick me? I can't be unclicked! Apparently if you can be unclicked on humor-blogs... I will be the one it will happen to! I'm so bewildering confused I may even blog about this.

In fact I am running a little short on time as I am getting ready to head out of town [told you] I may just copy and paste this email into my blog and call it a day. [Like I just did] Except I won't paste the part about pasting this into my blog. That would just be retarded. [Or maybe I will]

You know what else is retarded? Dropping from a score of 80 down to stinking 79! UGH!!!

Okay, I feel better... you know what I really don't feel better. But thanks for letting me vent to you. Are your eyes glazed over yet?

Ridiculously perplexed - Sarah

...You know you could say this is all very mind bloggling... hahahahahahahahahahaha... see I am so fantastically funny, don't you think I deserve a score of 80?

I have not yet heard back from the rambler. Either she is so overcome with laughter from the hilarity of my last comment that she cannot compose herself enough to email me back. Or she is, right now, changing her email address and blocking me from being able to comment on her blog because I have frightened her with my stupidity. I’ll let you know when I find out which is true!

I sent an email a few weeks ago to See Mike Draw about an idea for a cartoon that I had. I got a VERY NICE email back today letting me know that he’d be happy to draw something up if and when he has time. I scrolled down to read my original email to him (don’t tell me I am the only one who does this) and I was just a wee bit mortified. My idea was so stupid. I did tell Mike in the email that I was not sure if the idea for the cartoon was even funny since, as a mother I get very little sleep. And the majority of my daily interactions are with a three year old, who categorizes her poop into family members (For more on that see this post One Big Crappy Family) a two year old, who’s favorite things to do right now include tackling his twelve month old brother at full force, licking my face, and grabbing on to his twelve month old brother’s feet while he is trying to crawl. And a twelve month old, who spends so much of his day being knocked over in a full forced tackle and trying to crawl while someone is holding on to his feet (both of which he thinks are funny… except when he doesn’t) that he does not have time for me. These interactions, coupled with the lack of sleep equal limited brain activity. Thank you Mike for your polite response in spite of the stupid idea.

So that is it, that is what I accomplished today, and all in a minute and a half. Impressive, I know!

So, how did I do Daddy? How many mistakes did you find? My dad informed me the other day that he is enjoying my blog but he has found numerous grammar errors. I did remind him that I was home schooled. My mom hates that joke but it does very well at parties, I use it often.

If you care to make up for the unclicking that somebody did for me at humor-blogs click on this link

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

One Big Crappy Family

For some reason my family life has always kind of centered around the toilet. I grew up in a family that thought bathroom humor was the funniest kind. We still seem to think that way. My husband thought it to be a little strange at first but he is slowly joining the ranks. Lately I’ve noticed that it goes far beyond just the humor. We are a poop-focused family. I for sure am a guilty party. It is in my blogs, my blog comments, and my telephone conversations. And it is catching on with my children. I cannot change a poopy diaper without an audience. If one of the kids smells it, or catches wind (hehe, ridiculous excuse for a pun, very much intended.) that I am changing a “dirty” diaper they have to come and inspect. “I see poo poo, I see poo poo!” As my middle child always says, meaning he wants a chance for a closer look. We have made up several dirty diaper songs. You know how you just kind of make up songs with your kids as you are going through the day. Well my husband pointed out to me some time back that a huge majority of my made up songs, are about poop. It must just be so ingrained in me. My daughter puts her poops into little families based on the size of each piece. For instance if she has two larger pieces and one smaller one in the potty she will assign them their titles, a daddy poop, a mommy poop, and a little baby poop. She always calls me into the bathroom to meet the newest poop family.

My youngest son, as I mentioned in a previous post is having a lot of problems with constipation and I happened to have discussed this with his doctor on my birthday on Monday. We discussed what the next step might have to be if his newest medicine doesn’t work. For the rest of the day every family member of mine that called to wish me a happy birthday had to hear in detail about Hoss’s potty problems. And each one of them had advice for me based on their own bowel problems. One sent me her remedy in the mail. Another is bringing something for Hoss the next time he comes to town and others suggested dietary alternatives. Apparently we have all had enough “crappy” problems that we have all had to find what works for us. Maybe I just haven’t gotten comfortable enough with my husbands side of the family to know if it is just a normal thing to share all the crap in your life with fellow family members, or if my own family is just a little bit strange.

**As if I did not have enough examples in this post of how strange my family is when it comes to using the toilet, my 2 year old was just a few minutes ago sitting on the pot and asked for me to come wipe him. Before I even had a chance to head back to the kid's bathroom, his three year old sister exclaimed, "I'll go wipe him" and went running off for the bathroom. Fortunately I can run faster than my 3 year old... at least so far and I was able to avoided a craptastrophe.**

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Laundry Day, Do You Dig It?!

Buried… under… piles of Laundry… can’t find… way out… Will resume blog… when excavation is over.

Monday, May 5, 2008


Well, today is my birthday. This is the year I begin counting backwards from the age I was yesterday.

Has anyone noticed that Birthday's pretty much stink when you get older? The whole world did not stop today to cater to my every whim and celebrate me. My children did not wake up today and think, "Hey, today is Mommy's birthday, I think I will be on my best behavior." I still had to get up and make breakfast, change diapers, and make my bed. I always like to feel extra pretty on my birthday. It took 3 pair of pants to find a pair that fit me this morning though. Apparently my pants did not get the memo that I had lost 2lbs over the weekend.

I took the kids to the doctor for the baby to get his shots. He turned 1 yesterday... see mushy, squishy, adorable pictures below. He kicked so hard on the last shot that the needle came out of his leg, medicine spewing everywhere. That was with the nurse and I both holding him down. At least I know he's strong.

Then we went to "Mart" and I ended up getting the big kids each a toy because they were so good at the doctor's office even with our long wait. So on MY birthday I got THEM a gift. (okay so it was a little bit for me because I love seeing them get so excited over something new, but if I admit that it will seriously get in the way of my birthday pity party) I did come home to a pretty funny comment on my myspace page from my best friend from High school. He said:

Happy B-day!! other wise known as cinco de mayo, which is when the mexican people celabrate the liberation of Sarah from the clutches of the womb of Lorie! see i do know my history!!

Thanks for caring Mexico! Wish America cared too, just a little.

My mom also called me first thing to wish me a happy birthday. Which was very nice and made me feel loved. And I know my husband has something special planned for this evening. But it would still be nice if the entire day could be about me.

If you want to do something nice for me for my birthday click on my humor-blog below and MAYBE increase my stats. (although I am not sure it will make a difference since it does not seem to be keeping up with my stats, but hey couldn't hurt to try!)

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Today Is My Baby's First Birthday!!

Waiting for his dinner at his birthday party. We'll call this the before shot.

Blowing out his candles... with a little help from Daddy!

And the after shot. Is it just me or does he look like he's going to be sick?

Happy Birthday Hoss! We Love You So, So Much!!!

Friday, May 2, 2008

Friday Filing

Did some more mental filing again today. The little things that happened throughout my week or things my children said, I put away in their own little files.

When daddy asked Buddy if he had had a good day with mommy Buddy replied, “Yes, I was very brave.”

File that under:
A day with mommy must be a very scary thing. Trying now to remember if I had put on make up that day. That could frighten children of any age.

Bella was having a difficult time going poo-poo the other day. She called me in to the bathroom and asked if I would pray that God would help her go potty. I prayed. She went.

Which I will now be filing under:
If God can help the offspring of a Dearinger and/or Brooks go poop He really can do ANYTHING!

I opened a drawer in the kitchen, came face to face with a man-eating roach who stuck his tongue out at me and said pthhhh!

We’ll put that one under:
Perhaps they have built up an immunity to the roach motels. Perhaps I should clean my house more often since every other blog of mine involves a rodent, bird or insect making them selves at home in my house.

Bella asked at least a half a dozen times as I was getting her ready for bed Tuesday night (while N and Buddy were at the ER) if Buddy would be there in the morning when she woke up. Buddy was “talking to” an imaginary Bella the whole way home from the ER.

The File Tab reads:
My children are like a little old married couple. (But I think it’s really sweet)

Bella has a doll that cries when you take the pacifier out of it’s mouth. (This all on it’s own deserves a file, maybe: Why did we bring more things into our home that cry?) Buddy was playing with it the other day and every time the baby would cry Buddy would inform me it was because it was trying to go potty. He did this because our baby, Hoss, has a terrible constipation problem and when he does finally go it is a huge stool that makes him scream and cry while he is passing it. (It is really very sad… we are looking into it)

Filed under:
This is why the file: “If God can help the offspring of a Dearinger and/or Brooks go poop He really can do ANYTHING!” exists.

And now it is the weekend!!!! We will all be home all weekend together!! WOOO HOOO! I think N has to go take care of a couple of things from time to time throughout the day but we will basically all be together all day!

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Parents Say The Darndest Things

A friend's blog post recently ( boondockramblings go check it out, it's fun) reminded me of a funny story about my own kids and their crazy mother (who shall remain anonymous) that I just had to share.

I could write a book about the things I find myself saying to my children. One day, Bella and Buddy, just 12 months apart so they are always at each other's throats, where sitting next to each other in the back seat of the car. Bella started screaming hysterically because her hand was stuck. I assumed like any mother of siblings that Buddy was holding her hand captive. She was too upset to tell me if this was the case or not. I kept asking Buddy if he was holding her hand and could he please let go. He would not answer me. I was getting more and more hysterical myself in my questioning of them both as I was trying to concentrate on the road and at the same time calm Bella and find out if she was about the lose her hand like she seemed to think or if it was just a matter of getting Buddy to let go.

I was still not getting any answers out of any one so I said, “Buddy, put your hands up so mommy can see them.” Nothing, he just stared at me. I repeated this a few more times, getting louder each time. Still nothing. It dawned on me that he might not understand the instruction. He is not prone to open rebellion. So I said a little calmer, “Buddy, praise the Lord.” (I was raised in a non-denominational church where people often lift their hands to the Lord during a worship service. My parents use to say to me when I was little, “praise the Lord.” I would then lift up my hands and they would tickle under my arms. It worked every time… I was a bit of an idiot as a child apparently. This stuck and we now tell our kids “Praise the Lord” when we want them to lift their hands up so we can take off their shirt, etc.) I repeated this praise the Lord a few more times and received more blank stares. Bella was getting more frantic, I was paying much less attention to the road then I was comfortable with and so in desperation I shouted, “Buddy Justice, PRAISE THE LORD RIGHT NOW!” Eyes widened and two tiny hands shot up in the air. Bella, of course, remained hysterical since she was still stuck and her brother had had nothing to do with it.

I may have been responsible for hurting my son’s future “praise relationship” with the Lord but I was able to get to the bottom of things, pull over and get Bella’s finger unstuck from the hole in the seatbelt next to her. Just one of many times I have found myself thinking… “Now that was a strange sentence!”